the untold stories
by hello heartbreak
Summary: Stories which are hidden deep under years of memories, forgotten, yet held dear to their hearts. Chapter 6: They were unnamed for a long time until they met each other. Zaraki and Yachiru, back then and now.
1. Apple juice in a box

_Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach. Standard disclaimer for all chapters._

_Author's notes: I'm sure all of you have come across Kubo's "the untold stories" chapters. I love those chapters, so I've decided to come up with some of my own._

-

_the untold stories.  
_**Apple juice in a box.**

**-**

"Nee-sannnnnnnnnnnnn………" Kon whined, waving his stuffed limbs and wiggling his cotton butt. The dark-haired shinigami merely tore him off her chest and stepped out of the closet in one swift move. He followed in suit, only to be wedged in between the closet doors by a pair of strong hands. A certain orange-haired male yelled an apology with much insincerity and dashed out of the room.

The world faded to black.

-

He felt water on his face. It didn't taste much like rainwater. In fact, it was kind of sweet. Kind of, apple juice-like. Wait a minute, it _was _apple juice. Startled, he sat up. He heard laughter. Light peals of laughter which sounded like many wind chimes ringing in the wind.

Sun rays fought to get through the thick canopy of leaves. This resulted in many tiny beams of light shining onto the forest floor. He wondered how he got there. The apple juice made him sticky and his head feel fuzzy. It was ages before he realized that there was a small girl with two pigtails peering into his face.

And she had a squashed box of apple juice in her hand.

"Onii-chan!" she chirped before prancing away, her blond pigtails swinging violently behind her as she skipped around the trees.

His mind very much cleared by her shrill voice, he got up and stared after the girl, wondering if he ought to get angry or not. He was supposed to be her brother after all. Subconsciously, he began counting.

_One._

_Two._

_Three. _

_Fou-_

True enough, she tripped over her own foot and fell facedown into a pile of leaves. He gazed at her small structure, eyebrows raised. She scrambled up, brushing the dirt of her dress and spun around, facing him.

Making a weird sound which resembled a cat, she stuck her thumb out to show that she was all right. He blinked.

-

Kon regained consciousness, still squashed. He wriggled with all his might while muttering curses about Ichigo and his stupid closet doors.

"BAM!"

The stuffed lion shot out with much force and hit the shelf which divided the closet into two.

_Ouch._

The world faded to black again.

-

This time, he found himself lying on the beach. The scent of salt hung in the air all around him. The same girl from before could be seen splashing about in the seawater, trying to stop the waves from coming in. She wasn't having much success.

Strangely enough, he felt that he actually _knew_ her this time. Her name was Fuuka, named after blossoms floating in the wind. He knew, because he named her.

She bounded over to him in much the same fashion as a puppy, her pigtails longer than before but still as bouncy, and splashed water all over him.

"I'm thirsty, Onii-chan," she said, more of a command than a request.

He spat out salty water.

"What drink do you want, Fuuka?" he asked, testing her name on his tongue. It felt good to say it. Fuuka, Fuuka, Fuuka. Sweet.

"Apple juice in a box!" she answered hopping up and down excitedly.

"Carefu-" he began as she raced down the shoreline.

She fell flat on her nose, into the sand. He sighed.

-

He had no idea how he'd ended up in this place. It was different from the other two somehow. For one thing, this place was rather crowded, unlike before. And everyone was in black. Including himself.

In the middle of the hall was a solitary white coffin, not longer than a little girl's height.

Fuuka was nowhere to be found.

-

"Oi Kon, wake up!" said Ichigo, kicking the stuffed lion. He awoke and yelled insults back, as usual. When Rukia came home, she had to nurse a rather battered Kon who was still trying to punch Ichigo, but to no avail.

-

And so, Kon's life as a talking stuffed toy resumes. But sometimes, he wonders about his past lives and why he feels a sharp pain in his heart (if he even _has _one) whenever he sees apple juice in boxes.

_end._

_To readers: I hope that wasn't too crappy or confusing. I just thought that Kon would be a fun character to explore, since he's given quite little character development. _


	2. Bunny Love

_Author's notes: Spoilers ahoy. _

_the untold stories.  
_**Bunny love.**

She's liked bunnies all her life.

Ever since she was little, she would –

Wait.

She tries to remember the times when she was little.

Blank air space fills her brain.

Let's just leave it at, "She's liked bunnies all her life."

-

She's liked them even before she met Renji and his gang. _I mean_, she says, _they're so fluffy and sweet! How can anyone not love them? _

She recollects that she entered Rukongai with a stuffed rabbit in her hand. It wasn't a pleasant sight – popping beady eyes that stared past you and bits of cotton escaping from the bad stitches which hardly held the poor thing together. But, even so, she held on to it as though her whole life depended on it (that is, if she _was_ alive).

Then she learnt that she had to be stronger than anyone else in order to survive in this queer place. She also learnt that bunnies aren't exactly a symbol of strength. Despite the taunts and mean laughter, the puny girl kept the broken toy close to her heart, hidden in the depths of her clothing.

-

Renji was the first person who found out.

She can still see him dissolving into giggles as she sent a flying kick across his jaw. Unfortunately, her bunny got even more battered than before during their short brawl, until it was just simply beyond repair.

The red-haired boy caught a glimpse of the tears which flooded her eyes. Just for a moment. A flicker, then any sign of weakness vanished into thin air. She picked up the pieces of cotton stiffly and strode off, warrior-princess style.

-

And _then,_ she decided to become a shinigami. After all, you can't get all _that _strong in Rukongai. The real deal is in Seireitei, where you learn how to save lost souls.

-

For some reason she can never figure out, the Kuchiki family decided to take her in as a member of the family. Under the steely glare of her Byakuya-niisama, she knew that her relationship with her stuffed rabbits must end. For she was now a part of the Kuchiki household. It was a sign of weakness, and _no_ Kuchiki is weak.

So she clung onto her bunny fantasies through her drawings, which were quickly burnt after they were completed. Not that they were great works of art anyway. She is a terrible artist, and she knows it. But they give her security.

Even when she fell way below the expectations of one belonging to the aristocrats, and entered the 13th division as a normal shinigami with no rankings at all, the bunnies hopped in and out of her head and kept her from falling apart.

-

And then, Shiba Kaien stepped into her life. His boisterous behavior, along with that wide grin, never failed to surprise her. The rabbits were forgotten for a while.

No, that's a lie.

They appeared occasionally, usually in the dead of the night when everyone else was in a deep slumber and she lay, solitary and thinking. Perhaps she wept over the fact that her beloved captain had a wife, belonged to someone else, and would never reciprocate her feelings for him. Nobody will ever know, unless the rabbits tell.

It wasn't long before she killed him with her own bare hands.

-

When her powers were lost to a mere human, the rabbits were replaced by a noisy lion by the name of Kon. He kept them at bay with his perverted ways. _Her_ bunnies would never think such screwed thoughts. Another explanation (which she refused to admit) was that she didn't feel alone and unwanted when she was with a particular orange-head.

_That _was taken away from her too. Her last glimpse of the replacement-shinigami was him lying in an increasing pool of blood, with those frowning eyes staring up at her in shock and despair. She had to put in all she had (together with the bunnies) to keep her tears from rolling down her face.

Strange, how people who made her feel like she was worth it seemed to keep disappearing from her side.

It is at these moments that she needs her long-eared friends the most; to stand by her and provide as much comfort as their non-existent furry bodies can provide.

-

Rukia's liked bunnies all her life. They keep her strong.

But lately, her obsession's switched to strawberries somehow.

_end._

_To readers: I have hereby made Rukia sound like some psycho freak with weird bunnies hopping in and out of her head. Cookies for reviewers!_


	3. Dear Diary

_Author's Notes: Spoilers littered everywhere. Lots of assumptions have been made because Kubo Tite is very secretive about his storylines. _

_the untold stories.  
_**Dear Diary.**

**-**

Byakuya never meant to find her diary. In fact, he had been too afraid to step into her room since her most unfortunate death. When he _did _muster enough courage to do so, he somehow stumbled upon that small, inconspicuous black book.

Well, not exactly _stumbled upon._ A more accurate description would be that he went through every single one of her possessions and _then _found the tattered notebook with its cover nearly falling off.

Sometimes, the captain wondered why he had spent a whole year escaping from that room. He'd even gone to the extent of choosing alternative corridors just to avoid coming close to her room. And yet, as he placed a cautious foot across the threshold between the past and cold hard present, he felt a strange calmness settle over him, not unlike the way it used to be when she was by his side. It might have been just his imagination, but her scent (of sakura petals in spring) still lingered in the space she had occupied when she was still living. Nervousness was an alien emotion to our dear captain of the 6th division.

Inhaling deeply, Byakuya opened Hisana's diary.

_March 26th _

_Dear Diary,_

_Today is the first day I will start pouring my deepest secrets and hidden emotions into the white pages of this book. I like it because it's black and simple. _

_Anyway, spring has arrived and the sakura have started blooming! As always, a landscape covered with petals of all shades of pink pleases me greatly. I am graduating from the Shinigami Academy tomorrow. There are butterflies fluttering about in my stomach. Perhaps they are Hell Butterflies._

Byakuya's lips curved into a smile as he read the last line. His wife had always had an unusual sense of humor. Afraid to spoil the delicate pages of the disintegrating diary, he turned the page over gently.

_March 27th _

_Dear Diary,_

_I have never in my whole entire life enjoyed watching sakura trees more than today. He is the most **beautiful **person I have ever seen. Unlike my straw-like hair, his is jet black and **shiny. **Him standing under a tree with falling petals would have made a very handsome painting indeed. If I was any braver, I would have gone up to talk to him. Yet, there is one thing that holds me back. When I was admiring his find-chiseled features, my eyes kept flitting back to the Kenseikaan which kept his fringe back. He is of nobility. _

_Dear Diary, _

_I don't think anyone else write in their diary as often as I do. But there is something which I **must** write about because of the happiness bubbling up inside of me. His name is Kuchiki Byakuya. Who cares about his family name and of his ancestral roots?  
_

_From today onwards, he shall just be Byakuya-sama to me. _

At this, the reader felt as if he was intruding into something very private to the one he loved. He knew how wrong she was about discounting the fact that he was of nobility and she was a scrawny little kid who originated from the streets. Nevertheless, he braced himself and moved on to her next diary entry.

_July 11th_

_Dear Diary, _

_It's been such a long time since I last updated. A whole year has passed by so quickly. I'm getting married next week! Everything is happening so fast. It's seems like only yesterday I blurted out a few nonsensical words to the mysterious Byakuya-sama under a sakura tree and started our rather queer relationship. Byakuya-sama didn't exactly propose to me; he simply told me to come outside with him and kept silent in his usual aloof way. In the end, I had to ask him to marry me instead! His whole body relaxed when I asked, as if he had just been lightened of a great load. It must have been very hard on him._

Despite his high position and emotionless face, Byakuya had always regretted one thing in his life: of being too afraid to propose marriage to Hisana and forcing her to pop the question. The shame haunts him till this day.

_July 23rd_

_Dear Diary, _

_Life as a noble is very stressful indeed. Every move I make is watched by many. Right now, I seem to be the subject of all gossip. They call me a wily fox, lusting after the sweet flesh of a prized fruit._

_I know, because I listen._

_Strange that Byakuya-sama is likened to a bunch of grapes. He tells me to stay strong, in his own quiet way. I am aware of how fortunate I am to be receiving protection from him. For him, I will persevere. _

He nearly scrunched up the book in the silent rage that was rising up inside him. It was fortunate that he was fully capable of controlling his bankai. If not, a large number of people who had spoken ill of Hisana would have been silenced a long time ago. She didn't deserve it. No, not at all.

_December 3rd_

_Dear Diary, _

_I really have to stop forgetting about this diary. The gossip has died down a lot and the nobles are getting pretty used to me. As I glance at Byakuya-sama's serene face when he is at rest in the illuminating moonlight, I feel that my hard work has really paid off. _

On the back of this short entry was a faded sketch. His sleeping face was formed within the shady pencil marks. Hisana had always been a great artist. Byakuya never figured out why Rukia's artistic skills were so much more inferior to her sister's.

_January 31st_

_Dear Diary,_

_It's Byakuya-sama's birthday today. I am trying my best to be the best wife anyone can be but I keep getting distracted today. A total of three completed paintings have been destroyed by my carelessness (knocking over of paint palettes et cetera). This always happens during Januaries. It is this month which reminds me that I have committed a grave mistake. Rukia's birthday is on the 14th of January and that is the day I abandoned her in a dark alley of one of the most terrible towns of Rukongai. I will find her. I must, to repent for my sins. _

As if to add on to the dreary atmosphere, a cloud passed over the sun, blocking all light from the land. Byakuya now knew that it wasn't the dull weather that dampened his wife's usually high spirits during January's winter.

_August 17th _

_Dear Diary,_

_I think I am falling sick. Ever since I got out of bed today, my head has been throbbing rhythmically. I leave a trail of tissues everywhere I go. Byakuya-sama has insisted that I visit Captain Unohana but it doesn't seem necessary to me. Colds will disappear on their own after a while. _

The diary was slammed shut as Byakuya recalled that period of time in his life. If he'd been more insistent, her so-called "cold" might have been healed before it'd taken her _life_ away.

_November 3rd_

_Dear Diary,_

_My whooping cough is still going strong. I wonder if anyone else has had a more persistent cold than mine. Nobody knows but I coughed up blood today. This should be kept a secret from Byakuya-sama, especially. I would hate to let him see me in this horrendous state (in which I look like a drab lady)._

_May 1st_

_Dear Diary, _

_It seems that my illness cannot be kept a secret any longer. Captain Unohana has told me that I only have less than a year left to live. Strangely, I do not feel any sadness inside my heart. Perhaps this is how I must atone for my sinful doings. _

_The only person worth living for now is Byakuya-sama. _

The last few words came as a tidal wave, engulfing him and leaving him cold and stranded at the shore. The diary was coming to an end.

_October 19th_

_I am now bedridden and can hardly even hold a brush. My handwriting is squiggly because my wrist is collapsing and my eyesight is failing me. This is the most terrible way to die. Byakuya-sama's sad expression haunts me day and night. I have caused him great sorrow. Yet **another** sin etched upon me. _

The next few pages had been torn off, as if Hisana had written several drafts of the next diary entry before deciding on which one she wanted.

_March 14th_

_Spring is in the air, but the sakura have yet to blossom. They are unwilling to send me off in my final journey. It is understandable; a person stained with wrongdoing does not deserve it. I have not found my dear sister yet. There is no choice but to burden Byakuya-sama with yet another tiresome task (he is ridden with unreachable missions already), and that is to find Rukia. I hope with all my heart that he will be able to accept her and treat her like his own sister. And maybe… just maybe… he would allow her to call him "Ani". _

_I do not have the right to be called her sister. No sister ever abandons her kin just to survive on her own. Rukia is better off living without the knowledge that she once had such a terrible woman for a sister. _

_My time is up. I can feel it. It is sad that I have to leave this world as a sinful person. The 5 years I spent with Byakuya-sama has been a dream-like experience. Hisana has to go now, and wake from her dreams. _

_Thank you for all your love and care, Byakuya-sama. _

Byakuya's expression was more emotionless than usual. He was numb. Replacing the book in its original place under Hisana's favorite kimono, he walked out of her room, never to turn back again.

Many years would pass, and he would come across a strikingly familiar face and learn that her name is Rukia. He would then break the Kuchiki family rules once again and bring her into the family. Her face and body structure is almost identical to her sister's, but Rukia is not Hisana, and never _will be_ Hisana.

-

_end._

_To readers: It seems that Byakuya has had shiny hair even **before** Renji appeared with his marvelous shampoo. Hisana might be rather OOC but then again she's not had much character development, has she? I hope this piece was not too long and draggy – there was just too much to write. Reviews will be much appreciated._


	4. Going Home

_Author's Notes: The title of this chapter is from the Bleach OST in which there is a beautiful track by Shiro Sagisu called -going home-. Warning for just a teeny bit of vulgar language. And spoilers, of course. _

_the untold stories.  
_**Going Home. **

**-**

Hinamori recalls that the first time she met Shirou-chan; he was still an undernourished little kid who insulted many with his foul mouth. That was usually the main reason why he was always involved in the street brawls. And losing.

She recalls that his forehead was bleeding when they crashed into each other, him running away from bigger, stronger kids, and her running away from some old hag who claimed that she'd stolen water from her.

They were actually rather similar, she muses.

He'd muttered curses at her as he staggered down the dark alley. Soon after which he walked straight into a wall and was knocked unconscious.

-

Till this day, she hasn't forgotten the amount of strength she'd put in to drag the gangly boy (who was surprisingly heavy for delicate hands like hers) back to the rundown hut she called home. Pairs of eyes stared at her from the inside of the dark house, looking curiously at the half-dead heap of silver hair and entangled limbs she had hauled in.

"Who's this, Momo-chan?" Miyu, one of the younger girls asked in a shrill voice, tugging at Hinamori's faded yukata and sucking her right thumb at the same time.

"Take your thumb out of your mouth, Miyu," the older girl said in a both gentle but authoritative tone. "I have _no _idea who this person is," she admitted frankly, much to the horror of all the other children, now crowded around her in interest.

It was at that moment that the boy decided to regain consciousness.

He was rather shocked by all the small and dirty faces gazing intently at him and his first reaction was to yell out a string of swear words which the children were never exposed to. A few smaller girls burst into tears at his sudden flare-up and most ran back into the safety of the darkest corner of the house, leaving Hinamori to deal with the lad alone. He smirked at her, as if taunting her because her "comrades" had abandoned her.

Hinamori Momo is not known for getting angry. But when she _does _get angry, it is better not to be the reason for her anger. The boy she'd picked up from the streets learned his lesson on that very day and has not forgotten it till today.

It happened in merely five seconds. Boom, Kabish! and Splat, the shorter of the two was defeated with a few Momo-special punches and knocked out cold. Well, not exactly, but nonetheless he was lying flat on the ground by the end of the fight, without a single scrap of dignity left on him.

"_Nobody_ bullies these kids.They'll have to deal with _me _first." Hinamori uttered in a low and dangerous tone.

"Bitc-" he began, receiving another punch shortly after. The brown-haired girl glanced down at him (still lying flat on the ground) in warning. He got the point and shut up, glaring daggers at her.

"What's your name?" she asked, after she'd reverted back to the cute, pigtailed and tender girl with rosy cheeks.

"Hitsugaya. Hitsugaya Toushirou," he muttered with disinterest, dabbing his bruises with ice.

"Toushirou… Let's call him Shirou-chan, shall we?" Hinamori asked the rest of the orphans brightly.

"Shirou-chan!" they chorused in agreement.

"I'll _kill_ you," he hissed, but was completely drowned out by the high-pitched shouts of his new nickname, led by Hinamori.

And _that, _was the strange first meeting of Hinamori Momo and Hitsugaya Toushirou.

-

The elderly woman who took care of the orphans didn't question about the newcomer and his unruly ways; she simply accepted him like all the other children did. Gradually, the imaginary wall he'd built around himself to defend against insults that could come at any moment disintegrated in the harsh but warm environment, where everyone looked out for one another in the shabby conditions they lived in. He'd also grown accustomed to the utterly embarrassing nickname "Shirou-chan".

But Toushirou, being Toushirou, could never resist a dig at his current arch-nemesis, who'd torn his self-esteem away from him and stepped on it.

He was over the moon when he discovered her secret.

This amazing discovery was made in the night, when everyone was fast asleep and floating away in dreamland. He'd woken up just to use the washroom. His mind was rather blur and sleepy at that particular point in time, but when he stepped on a wet and squishy spot on someone's futon, he was very sure that he'd just stepped on someone's pee. His joy was just indescribable when he realized that the "someone" was Hinamori Momo herself. Ecstatic, Toushirou spent the rest of the night weaving nicknames to call her the next day.

Dawn came, and the silver-haired boy's head was filled with all sorts of names, including Pee-wee and Diaper-girl.

But he decided that the best one was still Bedwetter Momo, after much consideration.

"Bedwetter Momo!" he called out, in a singing tone. The girl's spine stiffened as she pretended that she hadn't heard anything.

"BEDWETTER MOMO!" Toushirou said, louder and nearer. By this time, Momo's face was flushed with embarrassment, with all the other kids that were awake staring at the queer situation with much inquisitiveness.

"Bed-wet-ter-Mo-moooo!" he continued saying at the top of his lungs, enjoying himself thoroughly. The brown-haired girl, with her back still against him, began to quiver. Finally, after a few more times of "Bedwetter Momo!" she broke down and rushed out of the room crying.

It was then that Hitsugaya felt a pang of guilt wash over him, and that taunting a person had never been so difficult before. After all, Momo _had_ been very nice to him (apart from their first meeting) and got the other kids to accept him as he was. Miyu stuck her tongue out at him. Everyone else followed in suit, causing him to feel even worse than before. Weighed down by guilt which he desperately tried to brush away, the silver-haired boy was forced out of the house by a horde of children.

He found her sitting on the rooftop of the house, illuminated by the evening sun.

"I'msorryicalledyounames," he mumbled, the apology clumped together in an incomprehensible sentence. Yet, she knew exactly what he'd said. She didn't reply with a "I forgive you".

Instead, she simply smiled at him and said, "Let's go home, Shirou-chan."

He felt an odd, floating feeling as they climbed down the roof together. It wasn't until years later that he realized the perplexing emotion was love.

-

And then she left for the Shinigami Academy. He remembers her waving goodbye to him happily as she pranced off in her disgusting red and white shinigami uniform. He'd called her Bedwetter Momo in their farewell partly hoping to upset her. The other childish part of him was just hoping that she'd stay a little while longer. Instead, she dashed all his hopes and simply smiled _that_ smile and turned her back against him, never to be seen again.

But no, Hitsugaya Toushirou isn't one who gives up easily. Or rather, he isn't one who likes to lag behind others.

He joined the Shinigami Academy shortly after, and learned quickly. Textbooks were of no use to him. He was a shining talent – a genius! His bankai was discovered quickly, and Hinamori started calling him Hitsugaya-kun after that. It felt weird. In fact, (although he'd rather die than admit it) he actually preferred "Shirou-chan".

Soon enough, he'd escalated to the highest rank anyone could possibly achieve. Many objected to him becoming a taichou, because in their eyes, he would always remain a gawky, rude kid. He didn't give a damn about _their _opinions; he knew how great his skills were and that he deserved his high post.

After all, the only one whose opinions mattered to him was Hinamori. Personally, he fancied her telling him "Let's go home, Shirou-chan" once more. Shinigami posts weren't important to him. It might be a little difficult, but he would learn to forget Hyourinmaru, just for her sake. Instead, she smiled and congratulated him in her usual enthusiastic tone.

-

Then the whole Aizen thing happened. He wishes it was just a nightmare, and he'll wake up the next morning lying next to Hinamori, in their small and cramped house they shared with thirteen other kids. But no, he awakes, only to find himself alone.

"Get up, you _idiot,_" he growled, clutching the pale white sheets that Hinamori lay on. It's always been like that. She's always streaming ahead of him, leaving him all alone. Then he manages to catch up and swears that he'll never have anything to do with her again but fails because she's always welcoming him with both arms and that _stupid _smile. Now she's gone and left him alone again, helpless. He frowns at her pale and peaceful face, as if that fucking bastard Aizen had never even existed in her life. He can't help but feel that she's selfish. Selfish, selfish, selfish. Always caring for herself, caring for her beloved _Aizen-taichou._

But deep down inside, Hitsugaya Toushirou knows that _he's _the only one being selfish. He's the one who walked into her life, he's the one who exposed her deadly bedwetter secret, he's the one who got jealous and strove to become a taichou and better than her, he's the one who'd thought Aizen was the good guy and indirectly gotten her into trouble, he's the one who wants to protect her, he's the one who wasn't strong enough to protect her, he's the one who wants her all for himself.

He's the one who wants her to get up again and tie her hair up into all sorts of weird hairstyles and stick her small hand out saying once again,

"Let's go home, Shirou-chan."

-

_end._

_To readers: My "drabbles" are getting longer and** longer**. They're not even considered drabbles anymore, in my opinion. Forgive me, because Bleach just generates** so** many ideas. Please review! _


	5. Korean Dramas

_Author's Notes: For those who didn't know, most Korean drama serials are rather sappy and heart-breaking. And they usually have bad endings. Needless to say, the audience is mesmerized. Set after all the incidents that Kubotite has in line for Ichigo. _

_the untold stories.  
_**Korean Dramas. **

**-**

If this was a Korean drama, it would be raining heavily, with people trudging about in the streets, holding black umbrellas.

But no, it wasn't raining. The sun hung high in the sky, scorching down onto the slow-paced people walking on the streets. The heat was unbearable and made everyone's minds fuzzy and unclear. An orange-head stood out from the crowd, with his tall stature and perpetual frown. Five years had passed, after big bad Aizen had been defeated and everything went back to normal. Well, not _everything._ A few lives lost, as few limbs detached. His injury? A broken heart, perhaps, as he glanced at her retreating shadow into Soul Society once again. This time, however, she didn't turn back.

-

If this was a Korean drama, the two "destined ones" would somehow walk into each other, and books would fly (these books would probably belong to the female). They would start to apologize to each other profusely and reach of the same book at the same time. Embarrassed, both parties would withdraw their hands, and their gazes would dart sideways.

But no, there was no clichéd collision, but he _did _hear a slight "oomph" as someone bumped into someone else in the sweltering heat. No one bothered to looks because their minds were too caught up with getting into a cooler place. Yes, there were books, but they belonged to the inconspicuous male, who scurried off after a quick apology, leaving the "bumped" looking very disgruntled and sitting on the ground. It was then that the orange-haired young adult noticed the way her shoulders were slumped, the way her clothes hugged her tiny figure, the way her black hair hung down her back, untied. He waded through the slow-moving crowd, squinting at the lady sitting on the ground, making no move to get up. The wading became more frustrated, and he began to speed up his footsteps; began to run against the human current, towards the familiar figure.

-

If this was a Korean drama, the streets would be rather deserted all of a sudden, for the two protagonists to run towards each other. They would then stop, a few meters away from each other, and stare. No words would be exchanged, just changing expressions on both faces (at which the audience would applaud the efforts of the Korean actors and actresses).

But no, he ran, but she didn't. Couldn't, actually. He stopped before her, panting a little. She turned her head and grimaced at him. Sprained an ankle, she mouthed, face turning paler than before. He stared at those familiar features for a while, before helping the girl up.

-

If this was a Korean drama, she would have lost her memory sometime back due to some car accident caused by an evil third party, but strangely trust the gentleman to help her up and bring her to some place safe. They would then get to know each other all over a gain, with the male lead hoping that his long lost girlfriend would regain her memory soon.

But no, her memory was still very much intact, and the second thing she said was, "You haven't become any better-looking." He, who was _far_ from a gentleman, replied in the same tone, that she, was still as short as before. But secretly, she noticed the more clearly-defined chin, the increase in height, and the deep-set eyes which held her gaze at the moment. He, in turn noticed her longer black locks which still curved into a swallow's tail at the back, her deep pools of violet staring up at him, the lips which were slowly curving into a small smile.

-

If this was a Korean drama, she would die in the end, most probably in his arms, and of cancer or some other incurable disease, by the shore of some beach. He would hold her and listen to her faint last words and tears would be streaming down both their faces as they watched the sunset for the very last time.

But Ichigo and Rukia are _not_ and _never will be _protagonists of a Korean drama. Besides, they'd both experienced death and the afterlife before, perhaps too many times for their own good. Flailing as Ichigo forced her to put her arms around his neck as he carried her in a piggyback, Rukia bit into his ear a little too viciously, releasing a whole stream of curses and yelps. But not once did his grip loosen – he was too afraid of losing her all over again.

As one looks at the couple from the distance, one must surely understand that these two are most definitely not the ill-fated male and female leads in an angsty Korean drama, but have a somewhat bright (and full of arguments) future ahead of them.

_end._

_To readers: Did that confuse you? I hope not. Apologies for my late update – I'm currently working on Whiteout, a Bleach AU fic. Check it out if you have time. As usual, reviews will be much appreciated._


	6. Just a while ago

_Author's Notes: No, I'm not dead yet. D Slightly AU-ish for their first meeting. Tense changes in the middle and changes back later on, which is a bad thing, but the author just can't help it._

_the untold stories._  
**Just a while ago.**

-

He'd assumed that she was born mute, as she sat amidst the remains of a massacre, with a small, almost invisible gash on her forehead, and dried blood caked upon the edges of her tiny yukata. Aside from those two details, she was unharmed. Her eyes were painfully clear, and flashed red from time to time, clashing horribly with her powder pink hair.

Not bothering to conceal his irritation, he kicked aside the rotting corpses that were strewn all over the barren land, blocking his way to the sole survivor of… whatever happened here. He'd never been much of an artist (unless you counted dragging bloody opponents over grass as a form of art), but the small splosh of bubblegum completely ruined the brown and desolate landscape, in his opinion.

A flimsy sandal stepped into a pool of murky, reddish water as he stooped down to look at the baby girl at eye level. She remained in her position, staring unblinkingly at his bloodthirsty eyes. Hah, those sucker bandits ought to be ashamed of themselves for avoiding his gaze in fear for their lives – a mere baby wasn't afraid to stare him down with her glassy eyes. Hell, her eyes were fucking scary compared to his because they were brown tethering on pinkish red. Like a rabbit's, only bigger and more intense.

_Yo, kid._

No response. Maybe she'd been shocked stiff, or her vocal chords had been cut. Well, either way he figured he didn't really give a damn. Turning away, he moved over to a flat rock and flopped down, blade leaning against his arm, dripping blood onto the ground.

-

A slight movement, and he finds her crawling towards him, glassy stare replaced by an inquisitive one, as she reached out and touched his foot. Her small hand shifts to his bloodied sword soon after, and he warns her that it's a weapon to kill people – she's gonna die too.

He doesn't know whether to laugh or growl when she ignores him and chuckles at the coppery liquid on her hand in the way only babies can.

_Kid._ She looks up, gaze fixated upon him once again. _Got a name?_ She doesn't seem to understand the meaning of the word "name", or she just doesn't have one. Like him. He must be going crazy; finding similarities between himself and a pink-haired baby girl was not something normal people did. But then again, he'd never considered himself as normal, anyway.

_Yachiru._ There is silence and she ceases her exploring, as though in respect for his naming ceremony. (Later on, she'll tell him the exact number of clouds in the sky at that point in time, the number of heads around them, things like that. It's merely to show her appreciation of the important day.) She's by far, the most attentive listener he's ever had.

_It's the name of the only person I've ever aspired to be. _He pauses for a second, expression solemn.

_And I'll be Kenpachi, the strongest shinigami ever to exist. _

She remembers his name and his ambition, for life.

-

She stuck out like a sore thumb, just the way he did. His grin was too wide and sadistic; her smiles were too happy and equally sadistic. He was way too tall; she was way too small. They both had unhealthy obsessions with things like bells in hair to serve as a handicap, or big crunchy colorful candies, or just going on random killing sprees for no reason at all.

"Ken-chaaaaan!"

He opened his visible eye; immersing himself in that familiar, vicious reiatsu as a flash of pink and black came bounding towards him, hardly making a noise on the roof-tiles. As always, he felt a surge of pride as she jumped from a distance and landed on his abdomen. Oh yeah, he'd taught her well. She'd probably surpass everyone else easily, if she tried her hardest. (Toss in some candy as a bribe and she'd be godly.)

Cheeks slightly flushed from the heat, she peered into his face for a while before breaking into a cheery grin. "I got us some_ kompeito_ from Bya-bo!" she announced triumphantly, dropping a silk pouch on his chest. A few pieces of the star-shaped candy fell out, but they were quickly snatched up by his vice-captain, who popped them into her mouth with speed that the other shinigami had to work hard to muster, usually before a big battle or an examination. She, on the other hand, did things quickly with ease.

"Open your mouth wide, Ken-chan," she instructed, and he obeyed. Life before meeting the brat had been a blur of stabbing and blood, life after was a clearer picture of more stabbing and more punctured organs – of their opponents, of course. They shared the same sentiments about the best way to slash someone – red mists just weren't fun because they disappeared too quickly. Spouting fountains were so much better. He supposed he seemed kinda whipped, from the onlooker's point of view, but he didn't give a shit.

At most, he'd just slice the bastard into two, with Yachiru sitting on his back and giggling at the victim's contorting expressions.

_end._

_To readers: I know, I know. I haven't been updating. :( Looking back, my works were really so juvenile and cliché. The only thing I'm really quite proud of is this small collection of vignettes-drabbles-things. So here I am, with an update on everyone's favorite 11__th__ division's Ken-chan and Yachiru. _


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